


What Would Happen

by seirina



Category: The Nanny
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-12-30
Updated: 2012-12-30
Packaged: 2017-11-23 00:32:42
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 6,850
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/616082
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/seirina/pseuds/seirina
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pre-series AU.</p>
            </blockquote>





	What Would Happen

  
**A/N:** For Wond-rwait, who tempted me over to the dark side with her fabulous fics. Thanks to Tayryn and Searider-Falcon, who read bits of this as I wrote, even if I do ship CC/everybody.

* * *

**What Would Happen**

** Chapter 1 **

One late afternoon in October, CC Babcock sat at the kitchen table in Maxwell Sheffield's house, taking a moment to skim the  _Times_  and have a cup of coffee before heading to the theater. Their new play opened in two weeks, and the set designer found himself in need of CC's particular brand of encouragement. She looked forward to obliging him.

"CC, darling," Sara Sheffield called, her voice warm and friendly as she came down the back staircase. "Tell me, have you found a date for the opening night party?"

CC curled her lip in disdain at the question. Sara, her business associate's wife, had long tried to force what CC knew would never happen: a friendship between the two women. Both blonde and willowy and from families with more money than some sovereign nations, the similarities ended there. CC could not understand for the life of her why Sara continued to seek her out as a friend. The question she had just asked pointed to perhaps the biggest difference between them. Unlike most women of her age and social set, CC's main interest in life was not, in fact, finding a suitable husband, much to her mother's and apparently Sara's chagrin. Nor was she interested in settling down with the aforementioned man and breeding a passel of weepy, needy children.

CC pasted a smile on her face and turned to look at Sara, who at the moment held her youngest—Greta?—in her arms, soothing the sniffling child. "Sara dear, I haven't even had time to glance through my address book, with all the work at the theater these past few weeks." She said it sweetly, as she made all her excuses when Sara inquired about her love life. CC suspected that Maxwell's wife would not approve if she told her that lately, the few dates she  _had_  had time for consisted of picking up men in bars and having her way with them in anonymous hotel rooms. No emotions, no commitment, just pleasure. So she kept it to herself and tried to avoid conversations like these.

"You're not getting any younger," Sara teased, shifting the kid from one arm to the other, attempting in vain to quiet the sniffles that had turned into wails.

CC tried, she really did, to bite her tongue. Conflict with Maxwell's wife never led anyplace good, but how much was she supposed to endure? She said lightly, "We can't all be as lucky as you, three darling children before the age of 30." She couldn't keep the sarcasm out of her voice, and Sara was not a stupid woman. CC had had to speak more loudly with each word, as the little monster reached her crescendo. "I'll leave you to it," CC finished with a smirk. Abandoning her mug and the disordered newspaper for the butler to deal with, she breezed out the door, unmoved by the hurt expression on Sara's face.

* * *

The organized chaos at the theater was a breath of fresh air after her brief encounter with Sara Sheffield and her screaming baby. CC glanced around, looking for the set designer. Her eyes finally landed on him and narrowed immediately. He was arguing with Maxwell. CC strode down the aisle, her heels clicking a rapid tattoo in spite of the thin carpeting.

Maxwell heard her coming and looked up, an expression of pure relief on his face. "CC! Just the woman I wanted to see!" He extended his palm towards her in welcome, and CC grasped it briefly before Maxwell wrapped his arm around her waist. "I was just telling Dave here that you have some ideas for the second act."

CC craned her neck slightly to watch Maxwell as he spoke. He looked tired, he needed a shave, and his eyes were sleepy in spite of his concentration on the subject at hand. She turned her gaze to Dave. "Yes, Dave, Maxwell is right." She honeyed her tone, but the designer jerked his head to look at her suspiciously.

CC stepped away from Maxwell, her lower back suddenly cool without his arm across it. "Max, why don't you leave this to me? I saw the caterer bringing in some fresh coffee as I arrived."

He shot her a grateful look. "Come find me later?"

"Of course," she smiled, then turned to Dave, her expression growing significantly less friendly.

* * *

Twenty minutes later, CC walked into the backstage office, where Maxwell was nursing his second cup of coffee. Her cheeks were flushed with victory. The set designer had finally agreed to her demands, of course he had, but not without a little browbeating. Browbeating just happened to be one of CC's favorite activities, and she had to admit, she would have been disappointed if Dave had caved too easily.

Maxwell looked up at her and beamed. "All taken care of, if your expression is any indication?"

CC returned his grin. "Piece of cake," she said glibly, pushing a stack of papers across the desk to make a spot to lean against it.

Maxwell scooted his chair over to give her room. "Thank you," he said. "I was making a bit of a flub of it before you got here," he said ruefully.

"Nonsense. Dave just responds better to a bully," she said, steepling her fingers and peering over them mock-malevolently, one eyebrow raised.

Maxwell laughed. "Say, do you want to grab a quick bite to eat? We could discuss that last contract we need to finish."

She shrugged, sliding off the desk. "Sure, I don't have plans."

Maxwell leaned to the other side of the desk, where CC had left her sweater the previous day. He walked to where she stood, holding the sweater so she could slip it on. "It's getting colder out, isn't it?" He murmured near her ear as he brought the garment up around her shoulders, letting his hands linger a few seconds longer than CC felt was strictly necessary.

She kept from shivering at his touch, or at his voice, or at just his proximity, but it was a near thing. She would never. But that didn't make him any less attractive, or that voice of his any less seductive, even when he was talking about something as banal as the weather.

At that moment, the phone on the desk rang.

With one last squeeze of her arms, Maxwell picked the receiver up and propped it between his ear and his shoulder as he struggled into his own light jacket. CC stepped over to help, holding one sleeve for him. She couldn't resist tracing his arm with her fingertips as he settled into the jacket, and he tossed a smile over his shoulder and mouthed "Sara."

CC managed not to scowl till she had shifted so that her back was to him. She could hear the kid making a racket through the phone. And Sara thought she should want _that_  life? Clearly the woman was delusional.

"Yes, dear, I'll be right there; I was just leaving. Do you think we should call the pediatrician?" Maxwell paused and listened to Sara's response. "You hold tight, and ask Niles to warm some milk for her, okay? I'll only be a few minutes."

Hanging up the phone, Maxwell turned and put a tentative hand on CC's shoulder. "I'm sorry; I'm sure you heard. Grace won't stop crying, poor thing."

She could hear the frustration in his voice, and it was only that that prevented her from lashing out at him. She moved to face him, careful to strip the annoyance from her features. "It's fine. I'll take the contract home with me and have it ready tomorrow."

His expression softened. "You spoil me," he said, squeezing her shoulder.

She raised an eyebrow. "And don't you forget it." She lifted her hand halfway to his stubbled cheek but pulled back before touching him, clenching her fingers and dropping her hand to her side.

Maxwell reached for her hand and brought it to his lips. "Thank you," he said. "Good night, CC."

CC knew she must be imagining it, but it sounded like a caress. She pulled her hand back gently and almost managed to make her "Night, Max," sound flippant as she walked out of the office without a backwards glance.

* * *

** Chapter 2 **

A week later, the play had moved to full dress rehearsals and excitement was at a fever pitch. CC always felt it before an opening, the surge of nerves and enthusiasm and anticipation. She relished the late nights and the early mornings and keeping the cast and crew in line. And it was a good thing she did, she knew, because Maxwell, in spite of his skill at recruiting investors and talent, was incapable of managing them. She suspected that it was because, at the end of the day, he wanted to be liked by those around him. This was not an aspiration that kept CC up at night.

Late in the evening, she was sitting at the desk in the office at the theater, rapidly tallying expenses and projecting profits, when Maxwell entered the room. He waited quietly, knowing she tended not to react well when interrupted.

After a few moments, she looked up and smiled tiredly at him, putting down her pen. Maxwell walked closer and leaned against the desk, his hip inches from her shoulder.

CC leaned back in her chair, crossed her legs toward him, and said, "I have a good feeling about this one."

He grinned, and at that moment, she figured she could imagine what he had looked like as a little boy.

He lowered his hand to her knee and squeezed it gently. "They really are quite strong, aren't they? Hank, especially," he said, referring to the male lead.

"Hank is great," she agreed. "I'm glad you found him." Just then, CC's stomach rumbled audibly and she laughed, glancing around for the apple she had brought from home.

"Let me buy you dinner," Maxwell offered. "Grace is perfectly fine," he added quickly.

CC raised an eyebrow. "What about Sara?"

"Out with a friend from university."

CC stood, brushing against his leg as she did. "In the mood for sushi?" She asked as she pulled her coat off the rack near the door.

Maxwell stood and took the coat from her, holding it while she slipped it on. "Sounds good to me." He spoke in a low voice, and reached to pull her shoulder-length hair from under the coat. He'd never done that before.

CC turned to face him as he pulled his own jacket on. She stepped very close to him, straightened his collar, and then let her hand drift down to his tie, rubbing her fingers over the silky material. She looked up into his eyes. His expression sent a frisson of pleasure through her body, and she moistened her lips, never taking her eyes off Maxwell's.

He leaned closer, darting his tongue out to wet his own lips, and CC felt her heart pounding in her chest. Maxwell brought his palm to her cheek, and she closed her eyes, leaning into his touch.

He withdrew his hand, and she missed the heat of it on her face.

"CC, we—I—," he sounded regretful, stumbling over his words.

"Sushi. Yes?" She asked, and if her pitch was slightly off, only someone who knew her well would have noticed. She turned her back to him, squaring her shoulders and opening the door.

He paused for a second, letting his own shoulders slump. "Yes." He drew a shaky hand from his forehead to his chin and followed her.

* * *

The sake had been, upon examination, a rather poor idea, though CC and Maxwell had not yet realized this. When those two drank together, it was always a toss-up as to which would drink the other under the table. That evening, CC was ahead by a wide margin, and the bottle of dai ginjo was already three quarters consumed.

"And then he asked where else he could have parked his Rolls for two weeks for twenty quid," Maxwell finished his story and snorted in laughter, resting his elbow on the table and his cheek on his knuckles as he gazed at CC.

She laughed so loudly that several customers seated near their table turned to look at her disapprovingly. She sensed that the joke wasn't even that funny, but, she reasoned, she was well on her way to oblivion and who the hell gave a damn if she laughed too hard at Max's dumb joke.

"Excuse me, I'll be right back," she said and rose on unsteady feet to make her way to the ladies' room. She was still chuckling a few minutes later when she returned and slid into the booth beside Maxwell. "What are you doing on my side?" She asked him accusingly.

"Your side? This is my side! I think you're tipsy," he said fondly, slurring his words slightly as he put his arm around her shoulders, pulling her close.

She leaned into him, tucking her head beneath his chin and running her manicured nails teasingly up and down his thigh, underneath the cloth napkin that covered his lap. He traced a similar path on her upper arm, through the fine wool blazer she wore.

After a few moments, he put his hand on hers, stopping her movements. "We can't—"

She interrupted him. "Do you want me to seduce you, Maxwell?" Her voice dipped into its lowest register.

He swallowed so hard she could feel it. "My god, CC." His voice was strained.

"Because if you don't, I need you to stop touching me. If you do, touch me all you like." On these last words, she slid her hand out from under his and moved to gently massage his cock through his trousers.

Maxwell let out a strangled whimper. "Christ, you're killing me. I'm a married man." In spite of his words, he let his fingers trail from her shoulder to the soft skin of her neck, working the muscles there.

CC tilted her head to give him better access. She ignored his statement.

They both missed the sound of someone clearing his throat nearby. "Excuse me, are you Maxwell Sheffield?" These words from a man beside their table dragged CC and Maxwell from their lust- and sake-induced haze, and she slid her hand from beneath his napkin as inconspicuously as possible. Maxwell yanked his arm from behind her shoulders and prodded her to step out of the booth. She did so, shooting him a nasty look.

Maxwell stood hurriedly, apparently forgetting the tent in his trousers. CC smirked when his ears turned red and he looked frantically for something to hold in front of him. Finding nothing, he shifted uncomfortably and spoke to the well-dressed stranger. "I'm Maxwell Sheffield, yes. May I help you?"

The man raised an eyebrow at Sheffield's distress, wondering just what he and the stunning blonde had been getting up to. "I'm Ben Vandenberg, and I want in on this new play of yours. I've been hearing good things."

CC extended her hand. "CC Babcock, Max's business partner. Please, won't you join us for some sake?" She invited, sitting down and scooting across the seat to make room for Vandenberg.

Maxwell looked at her, impressed. She didn't sound the least bit drunk or addled. He knew no one could say the same for him, and he eased himself onto the opposite bench and let CC handle the situation.

Which she did just as adeptly as she had been… handling… the previous one, he thought, and nearly groaned aloud. He knew he had to put a stop to this, but he didn't know how he would go about it. Fact of the matter was, he wanted her. Had been wanting her for months, and it had been eating at him, this desire for a woman who was not his wife.

He watched as she spoke animatedly about their upcoming production, easily charming Vandenberg into parting with quite a lot more money than he had originally intended. The low lighting in the restaurant caught the highlights in her blonde hair, and as she tossed her head back in laughter at a comment the investor had made, Maxwell felt something akin to pain. His wife was probably already at home waiting for him, and he was fantasizing about his business partner wrapped around his body, laughing that deep laugh and…

He shook his head, hoping in vain to erase the images from his mind. He would have to speak to CC as soon as Vandenberg left.

 

* * *

** Chapter 3 **

An hour later, Maxwell held the door of the limo as CC slid across the seat. The effects of the sake had worn off as she conducted business with Vandenberg, and they had both emerged into the cool night nearly sober.

The driver glanced in the rearview mirror and said, "To Miss Babcock's first, sir?"

Maxwell looked at her and she nodded, so he responded affirmatively. As the limo started rolling, CC reached into her bag and pulled out Vandenberg's check. Maxwell hadn't seen it yet, and she brandished it before him.

Maxwell let out a low whistle and said to her, "That was good work back there. Impressive."

She grinned wickedly. "I was impressed, too," she said, resting her hand lightly on his thigh.

Maxwell reached for the button that controlled the privacy screen and pressed it, effectively blocking them from the driver's view.

He put his hand over hers. "CC, listen. I… this… we can't do this." He fumbled the words and cleared his throat.

She gripped his thigh and leaned over, feathering her lips over his neck. "Why not?" She whispered.

Maxwell moaned at the feeling of her mouth on him. "Please. I love Sara, we have three children. I can't do this with you."

She slid her tongue out and tasted his skin, and Maxwell jerked violently away from her, shoving her to the opposite end of the seat.

She looked at him, unable to keep the hurt out of her expression. "I'm not asking you to leave Sara for me." She spoke quietly, with an edge of bitterness in her voice. "I'm not in love with you, if that's what you're afraid of. I don't want what you and Sara have. I just want…" She left her thought incomplete.

Maxwell watched her warily. "What?" He was unable to resist asking the question.

"I want you," she said simply. "I want to feel you moving inside me. I want to see your face when you come."

"Christ," he groaned, as CC slid across the seat and into the floor of the limo, kneeling in front of him. She stretched her forearms out on his thighs.

"Just let me show you how it can be," she murmured, pushing his suit jacket open and loosening his tie.

He closed his eyes and leaned back against the seat, spreading his legs wider apart in surrender. She unbuttoned his trousers and reached for his zipper. "I'm going to make you feel so good, Max," she hummed, and slipped her hand inside his boxers.

Maxwell let out a strangled cry as she touched him, her hand cool against his heated skin. He tucked a strand of hair behind her ear. "I want to see you," he said, his voice low and urgent.

She slipped his cock through the slit in his boxers and then took her hand away. He exhaled at the loss of contact. Leaving her blazer on, she unbuttoned her silk shirt and opened it, exposing herself to him. Maxwell reached for the front clasp of her bra and gently unhooked it, immediately palming her breasts as the bra dangled at her sides. He let out a shaky breath as her nipples tightened at his touch.

CC arched her back, thrusting herself more fully into his hands, and he rubbed his thumbs over her nipples, eliciting a moan deep in her throat. "Don't stop," she said, and leaned forward, grasping him firmly before taking him in her mouth.

He tightened his hold on her breasts to a point between pleasure and pain as she worked him.

After an amount of time that was so short it would embarrass Maxwell when he thought about it later, he blurted, "I'm going to…"

She looked up and watched him, giving him one last suck before his orgasm overtook him. He clenched his eyes shut and she watched the satisfaction cross his face as she swallowed. She rested her head on his thigh as he struggled to catch his breath.

Maxwell brought his hand to her hair, stroking it in a way she might characterize as tender if she didn't know better. "My god," he said, sounding exhausted physically and emotionally.

"Told you so," she whispered, and moved back to her knees, tucking him back in his pants and straightening his clothing.

"But you didn't—" he started, and she brought her finger to his lips, silencing him. He sucked the digit into his mouth and CC felt her whole body thrum.

The intercom crackled to life and the driver said, "Mr. Sheffield, Miss Babcock, we've arrived at the penthouse. Would you like me to stop, or keep going?" He spoke professionally, but his question made it clear that he was at least suspicious of what might have been happening behind the screen.

They spoke at the same time. "I'll get out," she said, as Maxwell ordered, "Let's drive once around the park."

The intercom clicked off and the driver resumed his speed.

Maxwell reached for CC's shoulders and drew her up into his lap. She straddled his hips, settling on her knees as he sucked her nipple into his mouth, biting hard enough to make her gasp.

"Max, stop, I just—"

He let her breast slip out of his mouth, and the wetness of it glistened as the car moved under a streetlight. "Contrary to what you seem to believe, CC, you do not, in fact, have complete control tonight." Anger tinged his voice and he reached up and roughly pulled her head down. He seized her lips with bruising force and she couldn't hold back the sob that escaped against his mouth as she returned the kiss. As he pushed his tongue past her teeth, he grabbed her skirt, dragging it up around her hips. He shoved her underwear aside and inserted three fingers.

She clenched around him and her body trembled. She kept her silence; she wouldn't cry out, from the ache of it or from her desire for him. Maxwell moved his other hand to her clit and circled it with his thumb and forefinger. She writhed against him. "Come for me," he said hoarsely, quickening his ministrations. Moments later, he felt the ripples of her release against his fingers, and kept moving inside her until she shoved his hand away.

CC let her full weight fall against Max's chest and onto his lap, and she lay her head on his shoulder as her breathing slowed. He slid his arms beneath her open blouse and jacket and clasped his hands at her spine, pulling her closer to him. She melted into him and he tilted her chin up. His tongue slipped past her lips, and it was a kiss dangerous in its sweetness.

CC pulled away and shifted off him, quickly fastening her bra and doing up her blouse. One of her garters had come loose, but when she pulled her skirt down, it covered it. CC reached for the intercom and spoke, her voice clear and strong. "Please take me to my penthouse."

They felt the car slow as the driver turned to head back. "Yes, ma'am," he said, and the intercom switched off. CC leaned back into her seat, crossing her legs away from Maxwell.

He reached for her hand across the distance between them, and she clasped his, squeezed once.

When the car pulled up in front of her building, she let go of his hand and stepped out into the brisk rain that had begun to fall. She did not look back, and she hated the part of herself that wanted to.

 

* * *

** Chapter 4 **

CC had caught the look of contempt on the driver's face as he held the door of the limo for her, but she didn't care. He'd never tell Sara; Maxwell signed his checks, and CC herself wrote them.

As she waited for the elevator to carry her to her apartment, she considered what had just happened. She'd gotten what she wanted, but she felt more unsettled than exultant. Maxwell had been… more passionate than she had anticipated. Angrier, too.

The elevator arrived at her floor, and its bell pulled her from her thoughts. She stepped out into the corridor and slid the key into the lock, opening her door. She left the lights off as she entered her apartment, discarding her heels near the door and dropping her bag and her blazer on the sofa. She needed a drink.

* * *

The next morning, CC woke with a headache and the memory of Maxwell's fingers inside her, his mouth on her breast. She groaned and burrowed her head in her pillow, loath to begin the day. But there were more dress rehearsals to scrutinize and last-minute details to settle and, she decided, a date to procure for the opening night party. She was sure Maxwell would be wracked with guilt, and she supposed that what had happened in the limo was unlikely to happen again. This might, she admitted to herself, thinking of the kiss they had shared before she left him, be for the best. In any case, a distraction could prove enjoyable.

Thumbing through her address book as she sipped her morning coffee, she decided to call Luke Branigan, whom she had met at a charity gala several months prior. He worked on Wall Street, and if her memory was accurate, he had been as charming as he was handsome. And he had liked her.

She dialed the number. "Luke? CC Babcock, we met this summer… you remember? Yes, I think I  _was_  wearing… listen, are you free on Friday night? … Would you like to come to my new play? I'll pick you up at 6 for dinner first, how's that?"

* * *

On opening night, CC arrived at the theater with Luke in tow. She had carefully chosen a crimson wrap dress with a high collar and a plunging neckline. Luke had seemed to appreciate it, barely taking his eyes off her breasts the entire time they'd been having dinner. CC found herself put out with him, in spite of his good looks and the fine figure they cut together, both tall, her blonde contrasting with his dark. He was a poor replacement for… well. They just didn't have much in common, and CC looked forward to sending him on his way as soon as she finished with him.

She spotted Maxwell and Sara speaking with a circle of investors, and Ben Vandenberg had just introduced himself to Sara.

CC took Luke's hand, and if the smile she directed at him didn't quite reach her eyes, he never knew the difference. They walked together to the group, and CC called out, "Hello, hello," her artificial enthusiasm noticed as such only by Maxwell and perhaps Sara.

CC went first to Vandenberg, touching his shoulder and introducing him to Luke, whose hand she still held. Vandenberg's eyes darted from CC to Maxwell, and he noticed the tightening of Maxwell's expression as CC spoke vivaciously to her date. CC didn't see Maxwell hide his fists in his pockets, but Vandenberg did. He had suspected something between the two producers when he had joined them at the Japanese restaurant. The lighting in the place had been dim, but not that dim. Maxwell's reaction tonight confirmed it, and Vandenberg smirked. What did he care, he was just in it for the return on his investment.

Leaving Luke chatting with Vandenberg, CC turned to Sara, ignoring Maxwell at her side. "What do you think?" CC asked her, glancing at Luke.

Sara smiled at her, a little surprised at the friendly overture. "Very nice. I hope you get a chance to introduce him later; I can see he's talking business now."

"Of course. I hope so, too," CC responded absently, her gaze moving to Maxwell. She drew in a breath when she saw his expression. "Good evening, Maxwell," she said, her voice only a little ragged.

"CC," he nodded, his tone curt. He tightened his arm around Sara's waist. "Let's go find our seats, darling," he said to his wife.

Sara touched CC's shoulder. "We'll see you inside, okay?"

CC nodded and watched them go, then turned to find Luke. If she hadn't, she would have seen Maxwell glancing over his shoulder, seeking her out in the crowd as he moved away from her.

* * *

CC knew, and Maxwell did too, that a standing ovation after a play didn't always mean critical success. But it did mean that the audience had enjoyed it, and neither could resist exchanging grins as the applause continued all around them. Maxwell stepped in front of Sara and pulled CC into a hug, his body shielding his wife from seeing his hands tangle in CC's hair. CC felt her heart speed up at being in his arms again, and shifted her body against his. Maxwell pulled back, ignoring the annoyed look Luke directed his way.

Maxwell spoke so only CC could hear. "See you at the party after?" His voice shook.

She nodded.

* * *

The opening party was a grand success, the cast and crew energized by the audience's enthusiasm. Maxwell was at the center of it all, schmoozing investors and dancing with the lead actress, and the lead actress's understudy, and his wife, and once even with CC, in spite of her resistance and Luke's unwillingness.

CC didn't give a damn what Luke had to say, but she didn't trust herself in Maxwell's arms, not in front of everyone they knew. Not in front of Sara. As he held her tight against his chest and led her around the makeshift dance floor, CC let her body meld with his, in spite of her better judgment.

Vandenberg watched them from across the room, shaking his head at their brazen behavior. The two of them were ballsier than anyone he'd met in a while. Such risk-taking might contribute to their success in the theater, but he was glad he didn't have anything invested in their personal lives.

"Are you seeing him now?" Maxwell murmured in CC's ear.

"Luke? Why do you care?" She asked dismissively.

"Because I bloody well do, and you know it," he said, grinding out the words.

"No," she responded, "I don't know it. Max, are you  _jealous_?" Incredulity colored her tone.

He swallowed and said quietly, "I have no right to be."

"That's for damn sure. Your wife would say the same, I suspect," CC said, anger mixing with derision in her statement. "You haven't touched me in a week. You barely spoke to me until tonight."

"Can't you see the position I'm in? It's untenable," Maxwell told her.

"Why don't you spell it out for me?" CC looked into his eyes, and was taken aback by the emotion she saw there.

"I don't want to do this here," he said.

"Then come over later. After this ends."

He nodded. He shouldn't, but he would.

* * *

"Maxwell, aren't you just about ready to head home? My feet are killing me," Sara laughed and clutched his arm as she slipped one of her heels off to flex her aching foot.

"You go without me, my dear. Take the limo; I'll come by cab. I really have to stay till the party ends. You understand," he said, and she nodded.

"I think I will. I want to check on Grace, too; she was coughing again this morning."

Maxwell kissed her cheek. "I may be quite late."

"I know, I know, a producer's work is never done," Sara teased him and turned to go.

As soon as the door closed behind her, Maxwell sought out CC. "How soon can we leave?" He murmured, standing beside her.

"Let me just get rid of Luke. You go speak with the investors who are still here."

* * *

CC unlocked the doors of her BMW, first Maxwell's and then her own. She slid behind the wheel as he settled in beside her. As soon as she closed her door, he reached for her. She went into his arms willingly, and stroked her tongue along his lips. The gearshift ground into her thigh, but she barely noticed as he opened his mouth for her. They kissed languorously, hands wandering. Maxwell had just reached inside her dress to fondle her nipple when CC pulled back, breathing hard.

"Let's wait till we get to the penthouse. Entertaining as it might be to fuck you in my car, I'd rather have you in my bed."

Maxwell collapsed against the seat, speechless at her words and at the need that threatened to overwhelm him. "Go," he choked out, and she slid the car into gear.

CC drove just over the edge of the speed limit and within 20 minutes, she was pulling into the reserved space in the garage beneath her building.

 

* * *

** Chapter 5 **

Safely inside the penthouse, Maxwell shoved CC against the wall beside the door and pulled unsuccessfully at her wrap dress. She moved his hands away and reached for the sash, and the dress slipped open, revealing her to him. She lowered her shoulders and the dress dropped to the carpet. A sheer red bra covered her breasts, but he went first for the matching panties, peeling them over her hips. She stepped out of them, leaving her stilettos on.

CC pushed at his suit jacket, letting it fall on the floor. His tie followed. Too desperate to bother with his buttons, she pulled at his shirt and heard a couple of the buttons bounce off the nearby table. She unhooked his belt next, and undid his trousers, shoving them to the floor. He toed off his shoes and socks and stepped out of the slacks.

CC in only the bra and heels, and Maxwell in his boxers, they pulled each other close. She felt him jutting against her abdomen and reached for his waistband. Reduced to monosyllables, she said, "Off," pushing them down around his thighs as she dropped to her knees.

"No," he said, "not this time," and pulled her back up. He bit her earlobe. "I want to be inside you."

She whimpered and nibbled his neck, and he reached behind her to unclasp her bra. He took her breasts in his hands and kneaded gently. CC pulled away from him and wrapped her fingers around his, leading him to her bedroom.

He lowered her gently onto the king-sized bed, and then reached to remove her shoes, one at a time. He nipped her ankle and then moved up her lithe body, placing open-mouthed kisses every few inches until he arrived at her sex. He rubbed her with long strokes of his tongue, and a low keening escaped her throat. He wrapped his lips around her clit and she bucked against him, her hands in his hair.

"Max, please," she moaned, and he intensified his motions. He felt her release and sucked at her until she pulled his hair, gesturing for him to slide up her body. He obliged her, and she captured his lips in a deep kiss. "My god, that was…"

She pushed him onto his back and straddled his hips, taking him inside her in one smooth motion. Maxwell thrust against her, and they moved slowly together. She looked into his eyes, and knew that this was about more than physical attraction, for both of them. Guilt warred with pleasure in Maxwell's expression, and he brought his hands to her hips as she moved above him. She felt the tension building again in her body, and she began to move more quickly, lowering one hand so she could circle her clit. Maxwell met her with thrusts of his own, and she felt her second orgasm, less intense than the first, wash over her body. She let her head tilt back and continued to slide up and down his cock as Maxwell reached for her breasts, grasping her nipples hard. She cried out and Maxwell came, calling her name.

She stretched out on top of him and pressed a kiss to his chest. Maxwell wrapped his arms around her, tracing his fingers across her back. "We have to stop this."

CC shifted so she could taste his neck. "I can't." She spoke so softly that he could barely make out the confession, but he did hear it, and tightened his arms around her.

"God help me, neither can I. I've wanted you for the longest time." His voice trembled.

She rose on her elbows at his confession so she could see his face. She leaned down and kissed him softly.

"Sara never has to find out, Max. We can be discreet."

"We haven't been so far. Vandenberg said something to me tonight that made me think he suspects, and we've only been… doing this... for a week."

"We'll do better. We just have to get the hang of it. I want this. I want you."

He tilted her chin up to look into her eyes. "I can't hurt Sara. If we can't control ourselves in public, then we have to end it now."

She held up three fingers and laid them across his lips. "Scout's honor."

"I should go home," he said regretfully, and swirled his tongue around her fingers.

"It's early still, Sara can't expect you yet. Stay a little longer," she said, tucking her head beneath his chin.

"Another hour, then," he agreed drowsily, kissing her fingers and running his hand slowly up and down the curve of her back.

* * *

The ringing of the phone on her nightstand woke CC hours later. She shifted and realized Maxwell was still under her.

He groaned at the sound of the phone and asked, "Time is it?"

She glanced over at her alarm clock. "Shit, it's after two," she said. "We fell asleep."

Maxwell jerked more fully awake. "Who would call you at this hour? It had better not be Branigan," he said, cupping her breast possessively.

She moaned and reached for the receiver. "CC Babcock," she answered, and managed not to whimper as Maxwell pulled at her nipple.

"Is he there?" The terse British voice of Niles, the Sheffields' butler, filled her ear.

"What are you talking about? And why the hell are you calling me in the middle of the night?" She asked waspishly.

"I said, is he there? Mr. Sheffield." He sounded rushed and angry.

"Certainly not," she said, "And you had better never call me at such an hour again."

Maxwell's hand had stilled, and he shifted closer so he could hear Niles's response.

"It's just that I've tried the theater; I've tried the limo driver. I can't find him, and I must speak with him. Mrs. Sheffield," his voice cracked. "Mrs. Sheffield has been in an automobile accident—"

Maxwell took the phone from CC. "Niles, I'm here. What do you know?"

"You need to go quickly, sir. She's at Lenox Hill. She went out at midnight to get some cough syrup for Miss Grace, and I received a call from the hospital about 10 minutes ago. The accident was a bad one. I can't go to her because I'm here with the children."

"I'm on my way," Maxwell said, and dropped the phone.

CC set it back on the hook and followed him out of the bedroom. "My god, Max, I'm sorry. I'll come with you."

He turned to her, furious. "No." He gathered his clothing, dressing quickly. He shook his head in disgust at the missing buttons on his shirt.

"Please, I can—"

"No, CC. I will not take my…" He was unable to characterize their relationship. "To my wife's bedside. She may be dying, for god's sake." He could barely speak the last words, and guilt engulfed him. "If I hadn't been here with you I could have gone for the damned medicine." He spoke roughly, ending with a sob.

CC reached for her keys. "Take my car, then. And let me know how she is."

He slipped the keys into his pocket and touched her cheek briefly. "Thank you."

With that he was gone.

CC, shivering, retrieved her robe from her bedroom and walked over to the bar. She selected the bottle of Belvedere and poured herself a triple, then sank down onto the couch to wait for his call.

**THE END**


End file.
